


Alistair's Dark Ritual

by robotichawk



Series: Solona Amell's Adventures [14]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-04-30 04:57:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5151119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotichawk/pseuds/robotichawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I will take the final blow. I’m the eldest, and the taint will not spare me much longer.<br/>But, if I fail the deed falls on <em>you</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Me

**Author's Note:**

> So, I realize that I _say_ "tomorrow" for the story beneath (you'll see), but for my own sanity's sake I _must_ mention that the forced march (especially dragging the army these two lovely Wardens' built over the last year) from Redcliffe Castle to Denerim would take _at least_ 10 to 15 days if they are lucky. More likely this march took 15-20 days.
> 
> I _hate_ it when logistics do not match up in my stories, but for this story I went along with the canon dialogue where Alistair and the Warden refer to the battle as tomorrow purely for the flow of the story. But I just _HAD_ to point it out that the actual battle would not take place until at least 10-15 days after this conversation happens, realistically. The reasoning/proof/source for this at the bottom of the story if you guys are curious.
> 
> Thank you for reading this rambling. I guess I'm a little finicky when it comes to stuff like these.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date: Wintermarch 4, 9:31 Dragon  
> Dear Diary,  
> I think tomorrow is the day. This is my last entry.  
> Goodbye, Diary.

Alistair sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as they walked down the hallway. His mind kept on replaying the words Riordan had spoken, the words that spelled the inescapable doom for one of them three.

 _I will take the final blow_ , the man had said, his eyes stern and thin lips grim. _I’m the eldest, and the taint will not spare me much longer._

 _But_ , the man had added _, if I fail the deed falls on you._

He sighed, clenching his fists and looking down at the woman walking besides him. Their footsteps echoed loudly in the hallway, dark and ominous.

Solona’s eyes had hardened as Riordan uttered those words, and since then she hadn’t spoken a single word.

Riordan would take the final blow, Alistair reminded himself. But Solona’s beautiful face remained frozen. The clanking of his armor echoed loud and hollow against the stone floor.

A strangled laugh escaped him, his mind wandering these halls over a decade ago. These walls had been lit with warm torches, the guards laughing kindly as they watched him play with the mabari pups. These were the very same halls he’d raced down smiling, now splattered with blood stains of the walking corpses they’d slaughtered months ago. And now he’d just received her death sentence. Here, in his childhood home.

_No, not hers. Riordan’s._

He gritted his teeth, feeling the muscles clench painfully in his jaw. Riordan will take the final blow, he repeated to himself. Their steps echoed darkly here, her face carved of ice. He stopped, pulling at her hand to make her pause as well.

“Hey, Sol. Hey, look at me.” He murmured, tilting her head up with a fleeting touch to her chin. Her eyes remained cold, her dark eyes that flooded so often passionately now closed up and frozen. His heart ached to see her chilled so.

“We’ll be alright. You know that, right? We’ll be okay. Riordan will take the last blow tomorrow, and we’ll both come out of this alive. You’ll see.” He whispered, his thumb stroking her cheek.

She stared up at him with dead eyes, cold and still.

“Hey, hey. We started out together on this. You and me, we survived Ostagar together, and we survived everything else despite the odds. We’re almost there – just one more night and this will all end. You and I, the two last remaining Wardens in Ferelden. We will survive this, just like the heroes from those old legends the Revered Mothers tell the children. We will _be_ legends, two Wardens that saved Ferelden from certain doom.” He whispered desperately, his other hand clenching into a tight fist, shaking like a leaf. “ _We will survive this!_ ”

“Alistair,” she finally opened her mouth, his frozen name falling from her cold lips. “Riordan won’t take that blow.”

His hand dropped from her soft face, her frozen face.

“No,” he whispered, anguished. “No, Sol. No, don’t do this.”

“You know it too.” She spoke, her musical voice frozen. Her voice did not sing.

“No, Sol! We don’t know that. _You_ don’t know that. We have a plan – Riordan will fight. He has a chance!” He pleaded, his limbs trembling.

She laughed, a harsh crude noise, so alien on her gentle lips. “Alistair, when has our plan _ever_ worked out?”

“There’s a first time for everything, Sol. Please, don’t do this. Sol, please!” He begged, each word bleeding out from his lips.

She shook her head, her eyes cold and dead.

“I’m sorry, Alistair. I really am. But you know, don’t you? You know it too.”

“No.” He breathed, the jagged word trapped in his throat. “No!”

He lied.

He knew it too. His instincts shrieked that she spoke the truth.

Her frozen eyes searched out his, and she knew he was lying.

“It’s me, Alistair. It’s me. It was going to be me from the very start.”

“ _No!_ ” He screamed, gripping her shoulders and shaking her. A denial. A final denial. But a denial of one mortal man cannot change the Fate.

She stared at him with those frozen eyes, watching dispassionately until he bowed his head with a pained groan.

“Solona…” He breathed, a tear rolling down his cheek. “Solona…” He sobbed.

She paused for a moment, her frozen eyes finally melting. She stood on her tiptoes, pulling herself up to his lips and kissing him with bruising force. Wet and salty with tears, honey-sweet, citric, and scorching as their lips crashed onto each other.

They moaned for each other, their silent tears flowing freely, their teeth nipping.

“It’s okay.” She whispered against his mouth, her molten eyes now blazing. “It’s okay, Alistair. You’ll be fine.”

“No, Sol.” He wept, pulling her into his embrace. Their armors prevented him from feeling her skin, but he did not care – he needed to hold onto her, to cling to her with all his might. “I won’t be fine, not without you.”

“You’ll be king.” She murmured, her soft voice lilting, singing, laden thick with the tears they shared. “You’ll be a good king, loved by your people.”

“Sol…”

“And you’ll have our friends. Leliana will come sing at your court whenever you ask her to. And Barkspawn really, really likes you. You can keep him, since you’re going to be the dog lords’ king.” She wept, each of her words a drop of her tears.

“Sten will be gruff, but he’ll send you letters. Especially if you send him cookies. Oghren will grumble and smell, but the court will deal.” She choked, her laughter getting entangled in her chest.

“Solona…”

“And Wynne will return to Circle, but she’ll write too. Shale will never stop calling you squishy, but maybe she’ll be your bodyguard? And Zevran will kill anybody who dares to oppose you – you’ll have your own personal Crow to watch your back. You won’t ever get assassinated with him watching you. And, and he can comfort you, and you can comfort him. It’ll be like how things are like right now, almost.”

“Sol, stop.” He gripped her, burying his face in her hair and howling. “Just, stop. Please. No more.” He screeched.

They wept silently, standing still in the dead hallway where he used to laugh a lifetime ago.

“I love you. No matter what happens, I love you.” He moaned, wishing he could press her into him.

“I love you too. I’m so sorry.” She cried.

He cursed the sun that would rise on the morrow, despised the ticking of the time passing by.

“I love you, Alistair. So much. But it’ll be me.” Her voice shook, sobs wrecking her body.

“I will take the blow, Sol. I will take the blow for you. Let it be me.” He begged. _Please, Maker, let it be him._

But she was already shaking her head, her tiny hands grasping desperately at him. He loathed the Maker for taking her from him.

“No, Alistair. It will be me. You can feel it too. It’s me.”

And they wept while clutching each other, cursing this cruel, cruel world.


	2. I Wish For Her to Live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ritual… performed on the eve of battle, in the dark of night.
> 
> Date: Wintermarch 4, 9:31 Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I realize that I _say_ "tomorrow" for the story beneath (you'll see), but for my own sanity's sake I _must_ mention that the forced march (especially dragging the army these two lovely Wardens' built over the last year) from Redcliffe Castle to Denerim would take _at least_ 10 to 15 days if they are lucky. More likely this march took 15-20 days.
> 
> I _hate_ it when logistics do not match up in my stories, but for this story I went along with the canon dialogue where Alistair and the Warden refer to the battle as _tomorrow_ purely for the flow of the story. But I just _HAD_ to point it out that the actual battle would not take place until at least 10-15 days after this conversation happens, realistically. The reasoning/proof/source for this at the bottom of the story if you guys are curious.
> 
> Thank you for reading this rambling. I guess I'm a little finicky when it comes to stuff like these.

There was someone in his room.

Alistair’s hand flew to his waist where his pommel usually hung. But his fingers closed around thin air and he bit back a curse at his own idiocy for leaving his sword inside the room. His eyes landed on his sheathed blade leaning against the wall next to the creepy, shadowy figure.

“Do not be alarmed. It is only I.”

Alistair squinted, standing just inside the threshold of his door. True enough it was the witch who stood by the fire as she warmed herself in front of the crackling flames.

“Morrigan,” He growled, drawing his hand over his eyes. He did not want her to see his swollen eyes, his tear-streaked face. He did not want her here. Not tonight. Any other night, he would have tolerated her haughty tongue. But not tonight. “Get out.” He hissed, rubbing hard at his tear-soaked face.

“My, my. You are just delightful tonight.” She snapped, though she did not turn around to face him.

Alistair glared at the dark form standing by the hearth before he walked over to the bed, sinking down heavily on the edge. “Get out.” He growled once more, lowering his voice and gesturing at the open door. “I won’t deal with you. Not tonight.”

Solona’s words echoed in his mind, bouncing around inside his skull. _It’ll be me_ , she had cried, _the duty falls on me_.

“Very well, Alistair. But hear what I have to say, and I shall leave you be afterwards.” The witch’s voice grated on his nerves as she spoke once more, announcing her continued presence.

“Morrigan, not tonight!” He roared as he shot to his feet, slamming his fist against the bedpost.

“No, it must be tonight. Or _she_ will die.” Her rhythmic voice beat against him.

He paused, her unexpected words stilling his rage before he could throw her out.

“Ah, now you’re intrigued.” She murmured.

Did she know? How could she possibly know?

“I know what happens when the archdemon dies. I know a Grey Warden must be sacrificed.” She continued, her hands hovering over the fire. Her eerie whispers made his skin crawl.

“Of course you do.” He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. His nerves rattled, screeched and grinded against the words the witch uttered. But he wasn’t surprised that she knew. She always seemed to know the strangest things.

“That other Warden has offered to take the final blow, thus sacrificing himself.” She did not wait for his confirmation, though he nodded wordlessly.

“Idle fancy, a cloudy dream which young fools grasp at. It will be her. You and I both know it. She knows it. It was always meant to be her.” The last words came as a sigh, a soft wistful breath.

Yet another drop of tear rolled down his face, though he no longer cared that Morrigan might see.

“Yes.” He choked out, gagging on that cruel, heartless word.

The silence persisted for a while afterwards, her staring at the fire, him staring up at the ceiling; an uneasy, sticky truce that clung to them both uncomfortably. But he did not wish for her to leave any longer. Even if it was Morrigan – Maker, Morrigan! Of all the people, the witch! – it was easier to endure the shattering of his world with her than alone. The knowledge that he wasn’t alone in this horrid torment made the pain almost – _almost_ – bearable.

“Maker, I can’t believe it. This is really happening.” He broke the silence, cracking the uneasy truce between them. “The dawn will come, and I’m going to lose her. She held the entire party together, built an army, even made you and I get along without killing each other for nearly a year.” He barked out a laugh, grinding and scratchy even to his own ears. “And she’s just going to die. Tomorrow. And I have to sit here and accept it. _How?_ How am I supposed to do that?”

The witch did not respond to him, the heavy silence settling between them. The crackle of fire filled the void as his tears teetered.

“Why are you here?” He asked suddenly, turning his head to look at her.

Was she trembling?

“I… I came for her.” She whispered. “She is… I have come to care for her.” Her words were barely audible over the crackling flames. His eyes settled on her slender, trembling shoulders.

His companions loved her as much as he did, in their own ways. A twisted grin found a way to his lips at that thought. Even if she was going to die, she was loved. Right. Because that made him feel _so_ much better.

“Of all the things I could have imagined would have resulted when Flemeth turned me out, the very last would have been that I would find in her a friend. Perhaps even a sister.” Her voice shook slightly, wavering like the flames before her.

“I am not… worthy… of her friendship.” Her voice creaked, her hooded head tilting low. “I value it, treasure it more than anything I possess – but I do not deserve it.”

Her voice broke, and Alistair knew the witch was hurting. She was hurting like he was; knowing that Solona would slip away from them tomorrow, like a wisp, like a misty dream.

He walked closer to her, standing by the hearth. His eyes traced the wet tears flowing from her yellow eyes to her lips, bloodied from her biting down on them to swallow her sobs. He lifted a hand and tentatively grasped her bare shoulder, not too surprised when she did not flinch away or even shrug. She simply wept.

Her tears pulled at his once again, the barely stemmed flow resuming once more. He wept with her, mourning.

He would lose his love, come the morrow. Solona was going to die.

She would die.

They wept together by the fire.

“I… I offer a way out.” She rasped out, broken by the sobs. “I know I am betraying her trust, betraying her friendship by offering this. But I offer a way out. A way for her to live. She does not have to die.”

His surprise made him grip her shoulder too hard, making the woman wince. He promptly let go, but she finally turned around to face him fully. Her tears glistened on her cheeks.

“A way out?” He echoed her, disbelief coloring his roughened voice. Could he possibly dare to hope?

“A ritual… performed on the eve of battle, in the dark of night.” She spoke quietly, her eyes unable to meet his.

“A ritual? What kind of ritual? Will it save her? Tell me!” He nearly shouted, his desperation clawing its way out of his throat.

She lowered her face, her broken voice seeping out. Her eyes hid from his searching gaze.

“You must lay with me. Here, tonight.”

He stood stunned, gaping at the witch before him.

“ _You want to have sex with me?_ ”

“Listen till the end, Alistair. There is more.” Morrigan snapped, her eyes hardening.

“Of course there is.” He folded his arms and glared at her.

“From our joining, a child will be conceived. A child with your taint which the essence of the archdemon will seek like a beacon.”

“I… I must be hearing things. Is this a joke?” He mumbled, shaking his head. “I am hearing things. Are you really telling me to _impregnate_ you, in some kind of magical sex rite?!”

“I am hardly pleased about this either.” She scowled, finally looking more like her usual self.

“Oh well that’s just great, isn’t it?” He shouted, vicious rage flooding him. “You want me to fuck you, and hate the fact that you want me to!”

The witched stared at him in shock, her eyes widening at his uncharacteristically savage words.

“This… child… why do you even want such a thing? Do you want an heir to the throne? Because I can tell you right now that being a bastard prince isn’t all that fun.”

“Don’t be foolish, Alistair.” Morrigan scoffed. “The child will be born with a soul of an Old God. After but one night, it could barely be called a child.”

“Oh. Well, that’s so much _better_ , don’t you think?” He spat. “Here I was, worried about creating another bastard heir and I didn’t even _consider_ that it might also be some dragon… god… whatever!”

Morrigan flinched away from his blistering glare, retreating away from him. He turned around, pacing the small length of his room as he glowered at the woman. It took him a moment to crush the scorching wrath enough to spit out the next words.

“Why me? You need the taint in my blood, right? Riordan is also a Grey Warden. Why didn’t you just go to him instead? You could seduce him far more easily than me, for so many reasons.”

“I… I do not know if it’ll work.” She mumbled hesitantly, twisting her hands. “He’s had the taint for so long – I do not know if the child with his taint would save her for certain. And…” she trailed off, her eyes wary as he scowled.

“And what?”

“No, forget it.” She clamped up, backing away.

He whirled around, slamming the witch against the wall as his rage flared up again.

“Morrigan, you’re asking me to fuck you behind her back, and you want to hold things back from me?” He snarled. “And _what?_ ”

“Fine, I wished to say that if I must I would rather lie with you than the unknown Warden.” She snapped, her yellow eyes blazing with sudden heat.

He doubled back, releasing the witch from his grasp as his fury was replaced by dumbstruck confusion. He gawked at the witch. She _wants_ to…?

“Oh, close your mouth before the flies gather. You look foolish enough without that stupid look on your face. I did not mean that in a romantic sense.”

He snapped it shut.

“All I meant was despite our bickering, and you playing the fool, we still are companions. She brought us together and I have learned to… watch your back. Over the last year you have grown more… tolerable, despite it all.”

_I must be dreaming. I must be dreaming right now._

“Do you still find me unbearably evil and unpleasant, as when we had first met in the Wilds?” She asked, her wavering voice just barely hinting at her uncertainty.

Alistair searched her yellow feline eyes, even brighter than usual with the gleaming tears still pooled there. Her cold beauty had always left him chilled before, but tonight… tonight she didn’t seem so icy anymore.

“No.” He sighed, bringing his hand up to press at his temples briefly as his anger deflated. “You aren’t that bad. But look, even if I was willing to entertain this idea – and I’m not saying I am – do you really want me to do this? Are you sure? It’s me, you know?”

Her eyes brimmed with sudden tears again, surprising him.

“Oh hey, what’d I say?” He hesitantly reached out.

“You are a kind man, Alistair. Foolish, perhaps, but a kind man nonetheless.”

She turned her head, looking away from him. Her tears sparkled in the dim light on her cheeks.

“You… yes, I am sure. I thought… I thought that I might leave before the battle, or of simply staying silent regarding this ritual. She has become dear to me, and I did not wish to betray her so after all she has done for me. But I also wish for her to live.”

She paused, before turning her yellow eyes back onto him. This time, she met his gaze without hesitance.

“You love her.” She murmured softly, her eyes tender while her thoughts lingered on a certain small black-haired mage.

It was not a question.

“Yes.”

He answered anyway. More than anything, he loved her. The word rang sincere and true, reverberating in his quiet room.

“I am a selfish woman, as you well know. I wish for her to live, my only friend. Even if I must betray her, even if she were to despise me, I wish for her to live. And so I am here, certain that I wish to convince you to lie with me tonight. Do you wish for her to live?”

“More than anything.” He whispered, words hoarse and grating.

“Even if you had to betray her?”

Alistair closed his eyes, feeling his guts twist within him. Would he sleep with Morrigan to save her? How did one make such a decision? Could he betray her like that? This was nothing like what they shared with Zevran. It was treachery. It was a dagger buried in her back.

He loved her so much that it _hurt_. His very heart ached at the thought of losing her. He could not live in a world that did not have her in it. Even if she hated him for this, even if she abhorred him until the Blight took them both, she would survive tomorrow. _She would live_.

Or she could die tomorrow, feeling nothing but her sweet love for him. She would cherish her memories of him, and pass from this world with her beautiful smile.

He wanted her to live. For once, he was going to be selfish.

“Yes.” He wept, the vile words breaking his heart. “I will betray her, if she will live. I will lie with you tonight. I’ll do it.”

Each word tore at his soul, shattered the love he bathed her in. The cruelest betrayal, the most wicked treachery on the eve of her last night. His words shamed him, bled him.

But his love, his Sol would walk away from the battle tomorrow. No matter what happened, she would survive the archdemon.

Morrigan stepped towards the door, quietly closing it. The click of the door rang loudly in his silent room, making them both flinch.

He pressed his hands to his face, gritting his teeth to utter the next words.

“Let’s get this over with.”

The witch stepped back towards him, coming to stand next to him by the crackling hearth. Her hand brushed away his free-flowing tears and moved his own fingers away.

“You won’t see me again after the battle. Of this I promise.” She whispered, her own tears flowing again.

Then they leaned into each other and kissed.

He tried to imagine she tasted like oranges, like his Sol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The correct speed of an army on a forced march should be more like 30 miles per day on good roads with good equipment and soldiers in really good shape. Cross-country it would be slower - how much slower would depend on the terrain.
> 
> The Fereldan army that’s marching from Redcliffe to Denerim is very likely not well-equipped, we know that the Imperial Highway has big broken gaps in it all over the place, and these folks are mostly volunteers who might be in decent shape but not forced-march shape.
> 
> It’s somewhere between 342 and 462 miles from Redcliffe to Denerim along the West Road, depending on which RPG distance guide you’re using. So at 4 MPH for 8 hours per day, that would take between 10 and 15 days to march from Redcliffe to Denerim. The state of the roads and the soldiers would probably reduce their speed a bit, resulting in a speed more like 3 MPH and a travel time more along the lines of between 15 and 20 days.
> 
> You could conceivably have a smaller elite group, like our Wardens, that could travel much more quickly. However, even they would be unable to maintain a significantly faster speed or significantly longer days for more than a few days without dropping. If you laid in an amazingly huge supply of stamina potions, I guess you could conceivably move faster for longer periods.
> 
> Taken from these posts [here](http://valerie1972.tumblr.com/post/62304818756/ferelden-travel-distances-and-times) and [here](http://robotichawk.tumblr.com/post/127498144357/carpe-cullen-eternalshiva-valerie1972)


End file.
